


Hands like Shaking Leaves

by FallenWren



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Dark, Emotional, M/M, Sad, Short One Shot, kind of whimsy, the end of an era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:55:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7232785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenWren/pseuds/FallenWren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Two weeks, Harry. Two weeks.” The words were barely able to be heard above the gentle creaking of the old overhead fan. “Two fucking weeks.”</p><p>“I know.” A pause. “I know.”</p><p>The shaking hands gripped onto the leather book, the effort making the tendons in the lower arm stick out. The fingernails went white with the pressure. “Two weeks.” A creaky inhalation. “I only have two weeks to live.”</p><p>Or: Harry and Louis are old now. They've lived full, happy lives, but the end is near. Louis breaks down. Harry comforts him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands like Shaking Leaves

Dry hands moved over a dusty leather book. The hands were old ones - pale, with spidery blue veins and shaking like the last frail leaves hanging on to the trees before winter. The tremor made the fingers unsteady, and the muscles in the wrists were tense with the futile effort of holding the hands still.

Yellow-tinged fingernails attempted to lift the cover of the book, but they faltered, paused, moved to rest, shaking, on top of the book. They lay there, quivering. White, skeletal things filled with unwilling movement.

Then another pair of hands appeared. A steady pair of hands. Also pale and full of spiderweb veins, but stronger somehow. More confident, more aware of the space around them, more willing to be pushed into productive action. 

The new pair of hands covered the first pair.

And the shaking stopped for a moment. 

A brief respite in the wind storm.

“Louis.” The name was whispered. A plea filled with desperate longing. “Louis.” Now the name was accompanied by a gentle squeeze from the strong hands. “Louis, my love.”

“Two weeks, Harry. Two weeks.” The words were barely able to be heard above the gentle creaking of the old overhead fan, and the intermittent clink of the chain against the overhead light was the loudest sound in the room. “Two fucking weeks.”

“I know.” A pause. “I know.”

The shaking hands gripped onto the leather book, the effort making the tendons in the lower arm stick out. The fingernails went white with the pressure. “Two weeks.” A creaky inhalation. “I only have two weeks to live.”

“God, Louis, I know.” The strong hands gripped the shaking ones. Gripped them hard, too hard.

“H, I….” Pause. “Harry, I.”

“Shhhhhhh…” One of the strong hands disappeared. A moment of silence, an inhalation, and then it returned. The outside edge of the index finger was glistening with something wet. Spit. It had been a silencing finger then. A finger shushing lips that were trying to form words they didn’t really want to say. “You don’t need to say it. I know.”

A moment of silence and a gasping breath in. 

“I don’t want to die.” The words were more an exhalation of air than anything else. A whisper of a sigh. They didn’t travel far, falling dead on to the hands below them. Making their horrible presence real, so very real. “I’m… I’m not done living yet.”

There was a sigh, a rustle of clothing, the squaring of shoulders. The strong hands gave a slight squeeze. “I’m going to go make some tea.” A pause. “I’ll be right back.” 

The squeak of an old armchair, and the grunt of a man with knees that have spent too many years moving. Shuffling feet moved off into the distance. Then the clatter of dishes being moved about a kitchen.

And still the shaking hands lay there, alone now, like frightened animals facing a predator. Facing the end. Facing the darkness.

Then a sound. A sound like wet paper tearing, like a dream being pulled painfully away from the light. A whimper of defeat. 

And then a head. A head moved into the hands. It was the head of a man, an old man. Skin more wrinkles than anything else. Grey hair and ice pale lips. A sliding monochrome scale of color.

But the eyes. The man’s eyes were bright. A bright, timeless blue. They glistened with unshed tears, and when they shut, obscuring the blue, a single tear escaped, but it didn’t go far, getting trapped in the deep smile wrinkles surrounding the man’s mouth.

A face with wrinkles like those had not seen many tears.

And then a deep, wracking sob. Like sharp, jagged nails being forced out of a throat. One and then another and another and another. They heaved out of the old man and came tumbling out of his mouth. Broken shards and rusty iron edges. 

More tears joined the first one, creating a river in the wrinkles. Another coughing sob, more like a wheezing cough, a terrible sound being pulled from somewhere dark and painful. A sound that could only come from a place of unwilling fear. The sounds were being forced out of the man, gasping breath after gasping breath.

A sound of shuffling feet again, and then the clatter of a mug against a table. 

Strong arms and a green jumper-clad chest appeared to encircle the sobbing man’s head. The strong hands fisted in iron-grey hair. “Shhhhhh… Shhhhh, shhhh, my love” The soothing sound undulated in time with the movement of the hands in the hair. 

Then another head, a head belonging to the strong pair of hands, appeared. Powerful green eyes and a fine bone structure that could still be seen beneath the wear of many, many years. 

The second head moved forward, just a fraction of an inch until the two pairs of lips were touching. Just a comfortable pressure, a comfortable kiss. Some of the color seemed to move back into the blue-eyed man’s face. 

The shaking hands moved up to hold onto the green jumper, revealing the title of the dusty leather book.

_ Midnight Memories: A photo album _

_ For: Harry and Louis,  _

_ Love: the boys _

And just for a moment, for just a small moment, everything was okay.


End file.
